that’s that,’ I say.
‘Hmm,’ says Andrea, dumping the letter in Zoe’s lap, before rummaging under the seat. ‘Where’s this bubbly?’ She pulls out a cool bag and we hear the distinct sound of glasses clinking. ‘Aha. Here we go. Right, what’s in here? Prosecco and three glasses. Typically, Joanne-style, they’re glasses and not plastic ones.’ Formalities pushed aside, Andrea dishes out the glasses and pops open the bottle as the car pulls away from the kerb. Despite jolting over some potholes, Andrea successfully fills each of the glasses. ‘Cheers!’
I’m not entirely sure I can stomach too much alcohol this early in the morning, but not wanting to be a killjoy, I decide to join in with the celebrations and take a small sip.
‘So, who’s looking after Alfie?’ asks Zoe.
‘He’s over at Andrea’s for the weekend. I expect him and Bradley will be glued to their games, only emerging for food.’
‘Colin will be in his element too,’ says Andrea. ‘He’ll be able to watch the sporting channels with zero interruptions.’
‘Who’s looking after your boys?’ I ask Zoe.
‘I’ve enlisted the help of my mum. The kids tried to tell me that at fifteen and seventeen they were OK to be left for the weekend.’ Zoe gives a roll of her eyes. ‘I’m not that daft! If their dad didn’t live so far away, they could have gone there, but trying to get them up to Liverpool for just a weekend is nigh-on impossible. Plus, I didn’t want to ask any favours from him.’
Zoe emphasises the word him. I don’t think I’ve ever heard her refer to her ex-husband by his name. Zoe is the new girl out of the four of us, having moved to the area about a year ago after her marriage broke up. It was a fresh start, she’d told us that first morning we all had coffee together. I can’t remember who made friends with her first. She appeared one day at our regular keep-fit class and the next thing, she’d struck up a conversation and she was sitting with us having coffee afterwards. She had just slotted in. It was like she’d always known us and we’d always known her. A new star to extend our constellation.
As the MPV smoothly exits Chichester, I look out of the window for clues as to where we are going. We are heading north and in my mind I picture a rough map of the area and where we could get to in an hour. Certainly out of Sussex. Although, there is the possibility that it’s part of the surprise and we end up back where we started from. I wouldn’t put it past Joanne.
About half an hour later the car takes a turn off the main road and down a narrow lane. Trees line the road on either side, blocking out much of the daylight. The car turns off but I don’t manage to catch a glimpse of the signpost. Neither of my travelling companions seem to be worrying about where we are heading. The Prosecco bottle now empty, Zoe is busy opening another as Andrea tells us about the spinning class she had taken yesterday for the local rugby team.
‘I love my job, but some days, I love it more than others,’ she says. ‘Those rugby players, Christ, they have stamina. All those muscular legs. I didn’t know where to look. Well, I did, if you know what I mean!’ She fans herself with her hand and sighs.
‘Ah, don’t give us that, you’ve eyes for Colin only,’ I say. Much as Andrea likes to make out she drools over all the toned men who come into the gym, her and Colin are a solid couple.
The car begins to slow down and gradually the trees on either side of the road thin out, before disappearing completely on our left. A small airfield comes into view.
‘Farnstead Airport,’ I read the sign out loud as the driver turns through the gates and pulls up in a parking bay. ‘This is definitely where you were supposed to take us?’
‘Definitely,’ says the driver. He opens the glove box and takes out another envelope. ‘These are your next set of instructions. While you read them, I’ll take this over to the departure terminal.’ He holds up the blue cloth bag and leaves us with the envelope.
Zoe reads it out this time. ‘So, you’ve all arrived at Farnstead Airport, Phase One of the journey is complete. Now for Phase Two. Please proceed to the departure terminal where at reception you will find a flight booked for you under my name. Don’t worry, you don’t need passports, just the photo ID I told you to bring. Enjoy the view and see you soon!’ Zoe looks up at us, her eyes shining with excitement. ‘She’s only bloody chartered us a flight!’
Twenty minutes later, we are sitting in a small light aircraft, still none the wiser as to where we are heading.
‘Obviously the UK,’ says Andrea. ‘Although I can’t say I’m particularly enjoying being stuck in this thing. It’s hardly a Boeing 747.’
‘I think it’s exciting,’ says Zoe.
Andrea looks up to the ceiling in despair.
‘Oh, come on, Andrea. Don’t be a party-pooper,’ I say, nudging her foot with my own. ‘Joanne’s gone to a lot of trouble. Relax and enjoy it.’
Andrea gives another look of exasperation but I can tell it’s half-hearted. ‘I’ll relax when we’ve reached wherever the hell we’re going and my feet are firmly on the ground again.’ Andrea peers under the seat. ‘No Prosecco this time.’
I exchange a grin with Zoe. Andrea loves playing up to her role of harbinger of doom and gloom.
The pilot is very pleasant but he too has been paid into silence by Joanne, so the three of us have no choice but to peer out of the window and make rough approximations of whereabouts in the UK we are flying over and speculate as to where we could be heading. The uneasy realisation that this is totally out of my control dawns on me. Joanne’s idea of a surprise has reached new heights, literally. And I don’t like feeling I’m at her mercy now.
The further north we head, the more convinced I am of our destination. ‘I think we must be going to Scotland,’ I say.
‘Scotland? That’s where Joanne went on holiday last year,’ says Zoe. ‘Her, Tris and the kids went pot-holing, canoeing, all that sort of stuff.’
‘Some holiday that was,’ says Andrea.
Both Zoe and I look at Andrea blankly. ‘I thought they had a great time,’ I say.
‘Yeah, I’m sure they did.’ The sarcasm in Andrea’s voice is apparent.
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ I say.
‘Ignore me. I meant all that outward-bound stuff Joanne does, not my idea of a holiday.’ Andrea gives me a sideways glance. ‘What?’
‘You know as well as I do that’s not what you meant.’
‘You don’t like Tris at all, do you?’ says Zoe.
Andrea looks as if she’s about to protest, but the defiant part of her nature surfaces, fuelled by the earlier alcohol no doubt. ‘It’s a personality clash, nothing more.’
‘Bullshit.’ I give a fake cough from behind my hand, to which Andrea gives her best and totally unconvincing innocent
